


Mentor

by Aeroblitz



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Last three characters implied, Post-Transformers: The Movie (1986)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeroblitz/pseuds/Aeroblitz
Summary: Thank you...For listening...(Because no one else would...)For guidance...(Now I can pass on to others...)For believing in me...(So that I can believe in myself...)...but most importantly...For being a mentor to me.





	Mentor

**_Thank you…_ **

**_for listening…_ **

“N-no! Prowl!” Bluestreak cried out, sprinting before anyone could stop him towards the wreckage of the shuttle. Reaching it he tripped on his own pedes, and clutched the grey form of the formerly black and white mech; sobbing into it. 

The young gunner had just learned about the shuttle’s defeat by the Decepticons, and subsequently the offlining of the mech that loved the sniper more than anyone else. Prowl was Bluestreak’s; likewise for Bluestreak being the deceased tactician. 

After the fall of Praxus, leaving a sparkling Bluestreak as the only survivor, the Autobots’ former SiC had raised him. Cared for him. Taught him everything that the younger Praxian was now. 

“N-no… You can’t be gone, y-you can’t! I-I haven’t told you about the sparring matches. O-or Blaster’s new music, Wheeljack’s new invention… I wanted to show you the baby birds! They’re supposed to fly any day now!” 

Someone grabbed the young Praxian by the shoulder and started to pull him away, “C’mon, kid. That’s enough, shut yer mouth. Listening to you… Prowl’s probably glad to have been offlined. Now get; Some bots got actual work to do.” 

“No! Get away from me!” Bluestreak struggled, breaking free of the mech restraining him. 

He ran back over to his guardian. His savor. His idol. Bluestreak’s servo latched on to the strategist’s one, blue optic frantically searched the empty frame, looking a sign, any sign, that could mean the older mech was still alive. 

There wasn’t. 

Tears flowed like twin rivers down his face, coming to duly understand, but not to accept this fact. “You said you would come back! You _promised_ you were going to listen to me!” 

_(Because no one else would…)_

 

**_For guidance…_ **

“Thanks ‘Aid!” Slingshot called, departing the medbay, to the junior medic turned CMO. The  
Protectobot, after all, had helped him untwist his mangled wing earlier. 

What happened next, came too fast for anyone fully process. The wrench flew in a perfect spiral, hitting dead smack in the center of the Aerialbot’s helm. 

“Owww!” Slingshot cried, looking in shock at the wrench that now crashed on the floor. He, along with the other Autobots in the room, stared at the medic with bewilderment. “First Aid?” 

“Hmph! You slagging idiotic aerialbots and your fragging stunts! Maybe I should check your fragging logic circuits, clearly, they’re fired…” The red and white bot responded. 

First Aid’s gestalt exchanged worried glances and pulsed concern/confusion/worry through the bond at their brother. The medic never cursed, hated it with a passion, and here he was cursing to the best of them. It was easy to understand their disbelief. 

Slingshot could feel the glares of questioning from the others in the room fall on him. What had the flier done to provoke such language from the sweet, caring First Aid? In all honesty, not even Slingshot knew. 

The Protectobot gave something that sounded like a growl, and he raised another wrench at the aerialbot. “Why the Pit are you still in _my_ fragging medbay?! Get out!” 

Slingshot threw his servos up in surrender, walking out backwards so he was always facing the  
medic, “Woah, woah, I’m going!” 

On a nearby medical berth, an injured Sideswipe whispered to his equally hurt brother, “I think Ratch’s ghost possessed him…” 

Sunstreaker shoved his brother away, scoffing, “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” 

“Yes, there are!” Sideswipe hissed. 

“No, there isn’t!” The golden mech shot back in equal tones. 

“Are too!” 

“Are not!” 

When the aerialbot got out and ignoring the Twins’ petty squabble, Ambulon questioned his, now, superior, “What was that about First Aid?” 

The CMO turned to his new junior medic, something of a tired wariness in his visor, “Ratchet never liked fixed bots in his bay… I owe it to him.” 

Sideswipe crowed in the background. “See I told you!” 

It was the other new medical recruit, a seeker named Pharma, who pressed on, “Why’s that, Sir?” 

“Ratchet taught me everything I know. He made me who I am today.” 

_(Because now I can do the same for others…)_

 

_**For believing in me…** _

Hod Rod, Rodimus Prime now, finally gave a weary sigh as he was secured in the safety of his quarters. The wear and tear between paperwork, Decepticon activity, and everyday base and mecha problem really took a toll after awhile. Not to mention with those silly earth government people and their silly problems… What did they think he was doing? He couldn’t care less about which country did what, or which person said that to who. He had his own people to take care of now! 

Rodimus heaved another sigh, he never gave his predecessor enough credit for what he had to deal with. Like the others, he was so quick to judge the hard decisions the old Commander faced; and he, like them, used every opportunity he could get to show off to the former Prime. 

Now as a Prime himself though had the Hah, that was still a crazy though; he still thought of himself as the young Autobot trooper Hot Rod. 

Life was easier then, Rodimus duly noted. So eager, carefree, and naive. Someone who could  
barely lead ant-droids to a picnic; yet, here he was, the new Supreme Commander of the  
Autobot Army. With barely any responsibilities to attend to, except for fighting alongside his faction. Those very same comrades he now commanded, not risking his life with them, but making the calls to have them risk their lives for the Cause. 

Almost as if Optimus Prime heard his chosen successor’s thoughts the Matrix pulsed warmly in the fire painted truck’s chassis. It gave waves of solace and tranquility. Commendation and comfort. Almost as if saying, ‘I know you can do it.’ With those thoughts and feeling the Matrix replayed scenes from its former bearer’s life. His time as Orion Pax, the first fights with Megatron,  
establishing a Command structure, protecting fellow Cybertronians and humans alike. 

It was awe-inspiring in the least. Giving Rodimus a chance to believe, in his own spark, that he too could wield the power of Primus and serve his people well. That despite recent failures, or being too young, he could surpass the scorn and high expectations from the other Autobots. That he too could succeed as a leader and do great things. 

_(Because now I can believe in myself…)_

 

**_...and most importantly..._**

 

**_...for being a mentor to me._ **


End file.
